Landing in London
by AEROrevolution
Summary: "She was leaving on a mission and it bothered him. When she told him, he'd smiled and joked with her, demanded gifts on her return even. Something pricey. " - How do they handle their time apart? The only thing keeping them together is a throw away cell.
1. 00 : Prelude

**Title :** Landing in London

**Pairing : **Ziva David x Anthony DiNozzo

**Author's Note :** This is my first ever song-fic, so bear with me if it's written awkwardly or just not what you expected. In any case, relistening to the song I couldn't help but have 'Tiza'' jump into my head and it wouldn't go away until I typed it out. The sfong being used is _"Landing in London" _by_ '3 Doors Down'_. As always review to your heart's content. Constructive critisicm is much love.

**- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -**

_"Because all I think about is you..."_

There air was thick with smoke as he lit his first and final cigar of the night, unsure if it was out of old habit or desperation to destroy his lungs. That first puff burned in such a bittersweet way he didn't bother with his beer, enjoying the sensation as it rolled around on his tongue, tickling the back of his throat. There were some days he really missed having a pack of Cuban's under his desk, just waiting to scent his jackets and hair, chasing him until the next time he decided to light one. It was an old man's habit, and he felt old as he surveyed the cracks in his fingers, weathered from countless cases and scattered missions. Glancing around the dusty bar, he couldn't help but smirk at the sad state of everyone, the old phrase _'misery loves company' _playing through his mind. It held true then and it held true now. When you came to the bar alone, you came to forget. That's what he should of been doing right now, _forgetting_. Instead he couldn't help playing it through his head over and over like a movie caught on repeat.

She was leaving on a mission and it bothered him. When she told him, he'd smiled and joked with her, demanded gifts on her return even. _Something pricey_. That was what he'd said. That trademark grin had been plastered on his face the entire time, charming and disarming, just like always. He knew better though, as he laughed at her miscommunications and failed attempts at English proverb, correcting her all along the way. He knew as soon as the word 'Mossad' left her lips that it was an assassination mission. She did them from time to time, but no matter how many times she left and returned it didn't make things any easier. It meant high profile killings, dangerous situations, and unknown circumstances. No backup. No partner. No DiNozzo.

"Tony."

She stood in front of his booth like that was where she belonged, where she had been the entire time. She was still in those cargo pants he loved, and it brought a faint smile to his face before he took another puff of his cigar, unwilling to get his hopes up. Without another word she slid into the seat across from him, careful not to disturb the growing collection of empty bottles on the table, sniffing the air as she picked up on the Cuban scent. It was a slight jolt to the system, familiar in all the wrong ways. She ignored it.

"Zee-vah." He stretched her name out into two words, as he often did when feeling particularly annoyed. Often times it was because of a case, or how she was handling the banter in the office. Other times it was on a more personal level, like now. It was misplaced, they both knew it, and just as easily as that they both ignored it. "I thought you had a plane to catch." He spit out the last word like it burned his tongue, replacing it instead with the sting of cheap beer, eyes already clouded over with muddled emotion.

Crossing one leg over the other, she rested her elbows on the table, more harshly then she meant to as a few bottles clanked together in protest. Folding her hands together, she stared at him without giving an inch. "Delayed two hours." She started slowly, sizing up just how conscious of his surroundings he really was. If it were a mission, he would of been dead long ago. But this wasn't a mission and she didn't want to treat it as such, so instead she settled further back into her chair, letting out a sigh. "Cuban cigars with cheap beer?"

He let out a chuckle, swirling the bottle by its neck, eyebrows knitting together in thought. Any other beautiful woman slid into his booth like she did, he'd be on her in an instant. They'd already be halfway to a hotel room somewhere. But this wasn't any other woman, and there wasn't any hotel room. So instead he settled for a sloppy grin and an even sloppier retort. "Can't have too much of a good thing." He set the bottle back down on the table. "Or it'll end up disappearing."

They stared at eachother for what seemed like an eternity.

"This is ridiculous, Tony." She cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, dissaproval clear on her face as she continued. "I am not abandoning the team. I come back every single time, do I not?" Every word came out a little faster then the last, a clear sign that she wasn't sure what to say without expressing it through violence. "It is a simple mission, I do not understand where this hostility is coming from. I am capable and resourceful and I will do what is expected of me." She was a soldier, and she was a damned good one. She wasn't about to be told otherwise.

"What happens when you don't come back?" He asked it so softly it was barely a whisper, and at first she thought she'd heard wrong. As the silence settled between them, she couldn't help but reach out and rest her hand on his arm, unsure of what had brought on the sudden fear she could see dancing behind his eyes. He knew she was doing a Mossad mission, but past that he had no details. She never talked about her missions, and she knew it was for the better no matter how much harder it seemingly made things. Perhaps she had been wrong in assuming it was an easy decision for anyone but herself.

"I am not about to leave." She squeezed his arm in reassurance. "I have not trained my entire life to fail. Have faith in my abilities, they have saved you more times then I care to remember." She knew the exact number of times she saved him, not that she'd ever admit to it. "You have not abandoned me. I will not abandon you." It was a simple concept between the two of them. They treated eachother the way they themselves wanted to be treated, and so far it had worked. They shifted to one another's moods, knocked sense into eachother when needed, even pushed more then a few buttons along the way.

Before he could take another puff of his cigar, she snatched it from his hand, playful smirk reaching all the way to her eyes. Sniffing the end, she crinkled her nose ever so slightly, taking a longer drag then neccesary. As the smoke drifted from her lips like a fog, she smiled at him, but this time it wasn't carefree or mischevious or friendly. It was the type of smile she got before breaking a suspect's leg in three seperate places. "Cuban cigars remind me of my father. He's rather fond of them." Handing it back to him, she finally released the rest of the smoke as it surrounded them both. "Perhaps I will pick up some for the both of you, no?"

He caught it, just like she wanted him to;_ Cuba_. She was going to be there, or at least around there, and it lifted a weight off his chest he hadn't realized was there. At least knowing where she was? It was a start. It was a signal of trust that was rare for both of them. It jeapordized her mission. It jeapordized his aloofness. Sometimes he had to wonder what she was thinking, or if she was thinking at all when it came to trusting him. He wouldn't trust himself, no matter how much he wanted to. He was too careless, too naive, too damned oblivious. She was calm, collected, and had her eye on every piece in the game. Sometimes it was frustrating. Sometimes it was exactly what he needed.

"I don't know." He slurred his words together. "Wouldn't want to remind you of any particular asshole." He snubbed out his cigar, tossing it over his shoulder without a care, satisfied to hear it hit the metal trashcan. He didn't appreciate Ziva's family no matter how highly she talked of them, they both knew that. Two different worlds produced two different people, two different standards of living. He was told to do whatever he wanted growing up. She was told to handle a gun and kill whoever was on the list. He never felt right about it. Then again, as much as he hated to admit it, without that he would of never met the Ziva he knew today. Sitting across from him, fingers still massaging his arm, trying her best to understand what was wrong with her decision.

The worst part was, there was nothing wrong with her decision. She was doing what was right for her country. She was building ties between Isreal and America, she was strengthening allies for NCIS even. Sometimes she seemed to hold more power then the Director when it came to foreign relations. She was doing what was right for herself. He had no right to question that, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how many drinks he poured down his throat. "Sorry." He mumbled.

She smacked him upside the head, in true Gibb's fashion. "Don't apologize, it shows weakness." She recited with a smile, as she usually did when remembering the rules. It meant she was learning and it meant she was becoming something more. He remembered at the end of a mission she had told him, _'I'm not just an assassin, I'm an investigator'_. And it was true. It made him just as proud, if not more so. Reaching into her coat, she pulled out a prepaid phone, sliding it towards him. "My number is already programmed. It is good for five calls, ten texts. Nothing more." Grabbing the phone, she kept her hand on it, their hands brushing together. "Emergency use only. No names, no specifics. Just...contact."

She finally let go, watching with curiosity as he slid it into his own coat, catching the glimpse of a secondary pack of cigarettes. She would bring that up to him when she came back. Resting her hands on the table, she pushed herself up as she exited the booth, wrapping her coat tightly around herself. It was cold at night, and she wasn't particularly fond of it. "I have to go." She had a plane to catch, and it wasn't about to be delayed a second time. She was lucky enough for the first one.

He got up next to her, a little off balance but sober enough to stand by himself. He gave her an awkward shrug, head rolling to each side a few times before he enveloped her in a hug. She tensed at first, unsure of what to do before finally relaxing, even resting her forehead on his shoulder. Sometimes she forgot how tall he really was. He smelled of alcohol and Cuban's but she didn't mind. It was still Tony. "Thank you." He whispered into her ear, finally letting go no matter how reluctantly.

**She left without another word.**


	2. 01 : Distance

**Author's Note : **This is the technical start of the story, and much more in the style of a songfic, I do believe. In any case, please read and give your thoughts and comments as always. Don't be afraid to point out spelling errors, mistakes, or throw out some helpful hints. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and gave their thoughts on the prelude chapter. Also I would fancy this taking place somewhere around Season Four as a rough estimate? In any case, enjoy.

**- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -**

_"I woke up today in London , as the plane was touching down."_

Her eyes flickered to life, hand still desperately clutching the pistol beneath her pillow, a faint set of bags beneath her eyes. She had never slept well on planes, and it was much worse on military planes, for whatever reason. Her main cellphone blinked lazily at her, a silent alarm that she was very much use to. With enough training, you could wake up to anything at any given time. She was alone, a minor miracle given the circumstances, and she used it to her advantage. A quick change of clothes, the recleaning of her weapons, and reading over the mission briefing. She had three days maximum to complete the task at hand, even though she was certain it wouldn't take that long. One target, any means neccesary. Straightforward, just the way she liked it.

Walking over to the window, her hand rested lightly against the glass, trying to catch any glimmer of scenery or landmark. All she found was darkness, and it unnerved her. In a plane you were at the mercy of the pilot and the machine. Her own personal skill had no outcome in aerial scenarios, and that fact was always in the back of her mind when she flew. She often thought about kissing the ground whenever she landed, not that she ever did.

Glancing at her watch, she bit the corner of her lip, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. It would be five o' hundred in thirty and her desk back at NCIS would be empty. The chances that the team were going to catch a case on the weekend was high, she already knew that. Weekends and holidays were the hot spots for murders, suspects, and general illegal happenings. Most people looked forward to their weekends. The team knew better. Shaking her head, she cleared the thoughts away, noting she could only focus on the mission at hand.

As far as she was concerned, at that very moment she was no longer NCIS. She was Mossad, and she would act accordingly. As soon as she returned to the states, she would resume her rightful role.

**- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - -**

_"All I could think about was Monday, and maybe I'd be back around."_

It was five o' clock in the morning, and Ziva David's desk was empty. There were no magazines on the top, no coat shrugged off to the side, no dim lighting from the desk light she treasured so much. Instead there was only darkness and emptiness. Neither of which belonged at that particular desk. Throwing his briefcase into his chair, he slammed his fists onto her desk, as if it would make a difference. As if she were hiding under her desk, and it would frighten her into sight.

He had started to come in earlier because of her, because he knew she would be there regardless of when everyone else arrived. For two hours it was just the two of them, bickering back and forth or comparing movies. Sometimes they would even grab breakfast around the corner, a little stand that had the best breakfast burritos in town. She was fond of the burritos, and even more so of stealing his whenever he forgot to pick one up for her. He had been ordering two for so long now, that he dropped the uneaten one at her desk, unsure of what to do with it. He wasn't going to eat it. _She wasn't going to eat it._

Settling back down behind his own desk, he got everything in order, completely ignoring McGeek as he went down into Abbie's lab without so much as a good morning. Apparently there was trouble in fake author land, not that he had the mind to mention it. "DiNozzo, grab your gear." Gibbs appeared behind him, seemingly from nowhere, Starbucks in hand. "We got a dead marine." It was like 'good morning' except more finely tailored to their lifestyle. Some days he felt bad for not being surprised or saddened by the news. Today wasn't one of those days.

"What about McGee, boss?" The stone cold stare told him everything he needed to know. "Right. I'll go grab McGeek and meet you at the truck." Gibbs smiled in response, saluting him with his cup before turning around to catch the elevator. Sometimes he wondered why Tony asked the damned questions at all, when he obviously already knew the answer.

**- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - - **

_"If this keeps me away much longer, I don't know what I will do."_

She quickly took cover behind a stone wall, gunfire errupting around her as she surveyed her surroundings as best as possible. There were four shooters, and her target was nowhere in sight. She had been made prematurely, given away by her odd and unorthodox questions around town. It was a careless move and she knew that now, picking up a chunk of concrete as she tossed it to her right, already darting to the left. As soon as the concrete hit the dirt, it was turned to dust from the brief attack, a useful diversion as she slipped through abandoned buildings to gain higher ground. They were in a war torn section of Cuba, filled to the brim with guerilla fighters and untrusting citizens. Throw in a seemingly endless supply of illegal weapons and ghost cities, it made for an interesting landscape.

On the third story of what she assumed to be a long since destroyed hotel, she rounded the corner, pistol drawn and at the ready. Three were down bellow on ground level, it was the forth that was concerning her. She couldn't place him, and that made him the most dangerous. He wasn't sniping, otherwise she'd already be dead. He was smart, controlled, and knew his terrain.

Another corner, and she shot twice, hitting her target with perfect aim. He fell backwards in a heap, gun clattering from his hand, eyes already lifeless and empty. She knelt down beside him, saying a quick prayer as she dug through his pockets and produced an extra clip of ammo, shoving his gun roughly through her belt. Backups were necessary, and right now was no exception. She had not been expecting such a violent outpouring so early on, and a single pistol wasn't getting the job done. She had her knife, but she prefered to stray from close combot as long as possible. She needed to keep her energy up for her intended kill.

Ducking into a relatively safe and secure room, she left her pistol on the table in front of her, digging into her pockets. She grabbed her secondary phone, staring at the blank screen, unsure of why the urge had hit her in the first place. In the middle of a mission, the middle of a cat and mouse game, and she was worried about someone who was completely and utterly safe. Sometimes she questioned her priorities, but she always trusted them. So she quickly typed out her messege, certain it sent before resuming her man hunt.

**To : **_[ unlisted number ]_

_The hotel is nice. The room service leaves much to be desired, though. Be safe._

**- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - - **

_"You've got to understand that it's a hard life, that I'm going through."_

Four interviews in a row, none of them panning out to anything useful. They all knew the victim, they all had motive to kill the marine, but none of them had the means to do it. It was frustrating, and now they were waiting on forensic evidence to shine some light on the crime scene. A finger print, a shoe size, anything that would point them in any general direction. When you're in the military, you either make a lot of friends or a lot of enemies. This one decided to make quite a few of the later. It made him wonder if he was ever murdered, who would be questioned first. His coworkers, his friends, his family? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The text came through a few minutes after his pizza was brought up. He couldn't eat it. Instead he chose to stare at her desk, willing it to produce the body that belonged there. Instead it mocked him, just like the burrito on top of it mocked him. This weekend seemened to be 'mock DiNozzo Weekend' and the worst part was that it was _working_. He turned his attention back to the throw away cellphone, wondering if he should text back. Would it blow her cover, if she was using one? Give away her location? Allow someone to track her? _Would it make her feel less alone?_

**To :** _[ unlisted number ]_

_Never stay at the Holiday Inn. Once I found a 3 month bagel under my pillow. Play safe._

He hit send, watching the lame little animation as the letter flew across the Earth before bringing him back to the main screen. He watched the minutes tick by without question, knowing it didn't make much of a difference one way or another. Was she really at a hotel? He could pretend she was at the Hilton or in some overly expensive suite, complete with mini bar and walk in tub. He could pretend she was just gathering information, nothing dangerous, all diplomatic. He could pretend all he wanted, but it didn't change the truth. And in his line of work, he valued the truth above all else.

"New girlfriend, Tony?" McGee made his way from the elevator with a smile, taking his seat as he checked through his email. How much had he seen? Staring at Ziva's desk, the text messege, the dopey grin? Who knew.

But he couldn't help but take the bait and work it to his own advantage. "Bingo, probie. Long distance girlfriend, actually. Totally worth it though." His million watt smile was back in place, running a hand through his shaggy hair, contemplating a trim later. "You might even get to meet her sometime." His laugh echoed around the makeshift cubicles.

**- - - - - [ NCIS ] - - - - - **

_"And when the night falls in around me, and I don't think I'll make it through."_

Clutching her shoulder, she rolled onto her side, uncertain if the room was dark or her vision was failing that terribly. She was trained to block out her senses, to use her ears if her eyes didn't work, to use her nose if her ears didn't work. They were fallbacks, backups, and they helped her even now as she shifted her way across the dirty floor, desperately trying to find her knife. She had run out of bullets hours ago, and she hoped that the enemy was unaware of that fact. She wanted them to think she had the upper hand. She wanted them to think she _didn't _have a bullet lodged in her shoulder, threatening to rip up her muscles and tendons.

Her hand finally came into contact with the hilt of her knife, clutching onto it as she checked the blade, wiping it off with her pants. It was still intact, it was still useful._ If only she could be that lucky_. She was alone, she had been for some time. She had taken down the three earlier gunman at the hotel, the fourth one slipping through her fingers. He was good, well trained, and they were both after the same target. It was a matter of which country was going to get credit for the kill, and that made it all the more dangerous. So it turned into assassin versus assassin, winner takes all. He had caught her by surprise the last time, she dodged but it wasn't enough to avoid the blow. Any slower, though, and she would of taken it through the heart. Lucky.

Pulling out the cellphone, she read the message quickly, a faint smile crossing her features. Would she of taken him down more quickly if Tony had her back? It was sent hours ago, around noon back in the states, and she wondered what they were doing now. It was midnight, probably. The stars were beautiful, if only she could see them. Basement rooms, intertwined and unmarked, it made manuvering hard. It made knowing your surroundings harder.

Leaning against a dirt stained wall, she tore the material off the bottom of her shirt, just enough to have a makeshift bandage. Shoving the cloth into her mouth, she bit down firmly, letting out the long breath through her nose.

_She dug out the bullet._

Ten minutes later, she was back on her side, cursing in her native tongue, wrapping the wound as best as she could given the circumstances. Ducky would have her hide if he saw such a horrid job. Maybe she'd have him look it over when she got back. She much prefered his treatment over Mossad medics. Much more refined, much kinder. More knowledgable, really.

**To :** _[ unlisted number ]_

_I could use a bagel right now. Perhaps a burrito. I am always safe._

As long as Tony believed her to be safe, she felt like she accomplished something. It was a new goal that she'd never held before. It use to be, complete a mission no matter the costs. Now it was complete the mission, and return safely home. She enjoyed the change in thinking. It was something more to strive for in her life. Perhaps she owed Tony more then she cared to think about.

**Text messege sent, knife in hand, she made her way back up to ground level.**


End file.
